


The Last Time

by Alphabees



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Appropriate TW's in the notes, Canon compliant up until The First Time, Enemies to Friends, Ficlet, Hurt/Comfort, KBWeek 2020, Kurtbastian Week, M/M, Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27454765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphabees/pseuds/Alphabees
Summary: Kurt is supposed to be the issue. He’s a priss, and a prude, and a problem for the Warblers that Sebastian will someday solve. Sebastian hasn’t paid him any more thought than that but now, watching Kurt shut down, he’s forced to.Sebastian has a plan. He has the information he’s picked up from the others, and the handful of interactions he’s shared with them. None of this is part of it.Neither of them noticed him leaving the club or listening in, and now he knows far too much about a moment he shouldn’t have witnessed.[For KBWeek 2020 - Fix-It]
Relationships: Kurt Hummel/Sebastian Smythe
Comments: 20
Kudos: 228
Collections: Kurtbastian Week 2020





	The Last Time

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings ahead for the events that take place after Scandals in The First Time. The descriptions are not exceedingly graphic, and nothing goes further than it does in canon. If you'd like to read this fic but leave out the part this warning applies to, skip the part between the line breaks.

Scandals is far too hot right now - just not in the way that Sebastian would like. The place isn't busy; apparently, the glitz and rhinestoned glamour of Drag Queen Wednesday isn't enough to lure the gay community of Lima out of the closet for the night - who knew? Sebastian. That's who.    
  
Sebastian also knows that he probably shouldn't expect much excitement from Ohio's dingiest gay bar, but these are the sorts of places that accept fake IDs as obvious as the kind he can get a hold of in this stupid country.    
  
He misses his old fake. His boarding school in Normandy had 'a guy,' and by the time he was 15 he had secured himself a counterfeit license that never got a second glance. There, when he had wanted to let loose, he had a plausible persona to fall back on: Sébastien Moreau, just barely 18, born and raised in Rouen where most of those nights were spent.    
  
The crappy imitation hidden away in his wallet tonight has different ideas. According to that, he's Gary  _ (Gary? Who in their right mind names a baby Gary?) _ Gibson, 26, from Detroit - a place Sebastian knows nothing about. It makes sense that it reads like a shitty joke. Ohio is a shitty joke.    
  
_ Ugh _ . Sebastian stuffs his hands into his pockets and saunters over to the jukebox. He has to brush past one of the queens  _ (Tina Turner? Who do you think you're kidding? Tina Stomach-Turner, maybe) _ to get there, but it's worth the uncomfortable eye contact. It's retro in the tackiest way, much like the rest of the bar's decor, and yet he finds himself begrudgingly charmed by it. He attributes that solely to his affinity for some of the equally tacky records inside. Music is the same no matter where you are.   
  
Usually Sebastian feels a little buzz of excitement when he stumbles across a song that fits his mood just right, with a beat he can use to move life's frustrations out of his body - but none of them are doing the trick tonight.    
  
He remembers when just being in a club or a bar exhilarated him. The sheer thrill of being years too young for such establishments once made him giddy, but tonight he's over it. Jesus, he’s only 17. Jesus. How jaded is he going to be when he’s actually allowed to be hitting up places like this? _  
_   
Resentfully he considers that maybe, just maybe, he's being a little melodramatic. Nothing has panned out the way he thought it might tonight, and now he's bitter and moody, with no reason to hang around. He'd made his appearance in the name of business rather than pleasure, and in doing so, set himself up for a night of tedium. That's what he gets for volunteering to babysit tadpole gays for the evening. He decides then and there that he's never doing charity work again. He could have spent this time preparing for sectionals.   
  
Said tadpole gays left him moments ago without a second thought.  Assholes .  That’s just plain impolite. It had been going so well, too. He was so sure they would have broken up a few hours in, but no, the walking stereotype left with Blaine hanging off of him.  _ Gross _ .   
  
When, exactly, did it all go to shit? At some point, he had Blaine right where he wanted him: twirling and head-bobbing in the palm of his hand. Kurt didn't venture from the bar for most of the evening, as if his Shirley Temple and its extra cherries (a genius move on Sebastian's part, truly) had him tethered there. Whenever Blaine so much as hinted at wanting another drink, Sebastian had snuck over to the bar in his honour. He'd even kept it discreet as requested, despite his ever-growing desire to rub it in Kurt's face.    
  
No, it was that stupid, colossal bear cub, and whatever he said to Hummel that got him onto his feet. That's why he's alone now, staring daggers at his own reflection in the jukebox's glass.    
  
If Kurt had just stayed at the bar, he would have had the time he needed. He could have pressed himself a little closer to Blaine, could have whispered the right words and pulled out all the stops to make him melt. Then, he could have grabbed his wrist, dragged him into the bathroom, and--   
  
...No. He couldn't have done those things, for a handful of reasons. For one, even if it brought Blaine back where he belonged, he would turn up to Warbler practice miserable, which would hardly make him an asset to the team. When it happens - and it will happen - it needs to be on Blaine's terms. Really, he's doing Blaine a favour. He's reminding Blaine of what he's missing, and if it gets Sebastian some action in the process he won't complain. His moral hardwiring has got something to say about getting handsy with somebody so far over the limit, though - that's another reason he didn't go through with it. And then there was Kurt.   
  
Weirdly enough, Kurt getting in his way had provided him with some actual entertainment for a while. All of a sudden he had to compete for Blaine's attention, and to Sebastian's surprise he lost it. Kurt had slid between them and, jutting his hips backwards, forced Sebastian away. From there they had silently entered a duel in which Blaine was the prize. Kurt bested him. Wherever Sebastian would move, Kurt would be one obnoxious shimmy ahead.   
  
Whatever. Who wears a bolo tie to a club anyway? Annoying prudes, that's who. Eventually, Blaine will realise that, and then he'll realise that he made a mistake when he transferred schools to be with one.   
  
Upon his third rotation of the jukebox's song selection, Sebastian realises that standing there and internally bitching about Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel won't make them fall in line. He could be ineffectually complaining in the comfort of his dorm.    
  
With that revelation in mind, Sebastian turns on his heel and heads for the door. He nods cordially at the bartender as he passes - it doesn't hurt to be a well-liked regular - and hopes he makes it on time for the next gross bus back to Westerville.    


* * *

Kurt elects to kick the door open. He could have used his free hand - he's managing to keep Blaine vertical with just one arm around his shoulder - but he doesn't want to risk making direct contact with it. If Sebastian Smythe is an exemplary Scandals patron, there's no telling what Kurt might catch from it.    
  
He guides his boyfriend towards his car and inhales deeply, lettling as much of the icy midnight air into his system as he can. He wants to forget about the sweltering heat of the bar as soon as possible.    
  
“This is the best night of my life,” Blaine slurs, dragging his heels against the sidewalk. Kurt makes a lame effort to sound like he's listening. He needs all of his focus to keep them both upright, despite Blaine’s best efforts to better acquaint himself with the tarmac. “It's the best night of my life!”   
  
That makes one of us, Kurt thinks with a bitter sigh. He had wanted so badly to wow Blaine with a sudden rebirth as a gay-bar-superstar tonight. If that horse-toothed bastard hadn't been so quick to knock his confidence out from under his feet he might have managed it. All it took was one barely-disguised jab at his lack of sexual prowess in the form of a drink to make him feel two foot small.    
  
A Shirley Temple, extra cherries. A virgin drink for the virgin, with extra virginity. Très drôle. When did subtlety die, and why wasn't Kurt invited to the funeral?   
  
In hindsight it’s petty, and juvenile, and not particularly clever. Still, it had the desired effect on him.    
  
The fact that he actually adores cherries just makes matters worse. The only solace he can find is that Sebastian wasted his cash on a lame joke-- when he ignores the fact that anybody with a surname as pretentious as Smythe probably has money to burn.    
  
For now, Kurt puts these grievances on the back-burner. He has somebody to look out for, after all.    
  
That somebody pokes Kurt’s chest a little too firmly with a goofy grin on his face. “I wanna live here,” he announces to the empty parking lot. “I wanna live here, and I just wanna…” Blaine waves his hand back and forth, as though he might grab the words he's looking for out of thin air. “...Make art.” There are a blessed few seconds of silence before he has something else to declare. “And help people!”   
  
He turns to face Kurt as he says it, sharing that dopey smile that is, admittedly, a cute look on him. Kurt might have been endeared if he hadn't just caught a whiff of the world’s worst case of alcohol breath since aunt Mildred’s appearance at the 2007 Hummel family reunion.    
  
He leans back to distance himself from the source, unable to restrain a peal of incredulous laughter. No wonder he can barely walk straight - not that he can recall seeing Blaine drink that much. "You could certainly help people make fires with your breath,” Kurt teases, with a playful nudge that nearly knocks them both off-kilter.   
  
“Hey, come on, I only had one beer!” Blaine huffs defensively. That's evidently a bare-faced lie, but Kurt doesn't have the energy to contest it. He wants to end the night as quickly as possible, especially when he remembers drunk-Blaine’s track record of throwing up in his Navigator.    
  
Drunk-Blaine, however, has other ideas.    
  
Kurt opens the door to the backseat, holding it open for Blaine like the gentleman he is. Instead, his boyfriend leans in, and Kurt feels the familiar warmth of Blaine's arms winding around his waist. “Kiss me,” he says once, and then again when Kurt doesn't comply. “Come on, kiss me.”    
  
Kurt is flattered, if not a little exasperated. He loves Blaine, and he loves the way their relationship is growing more and more physical, but between the frigid air and the  _ eau de moonshine _ Blaine is sporting, he isn't really in the mood.    
  
“No, no no no.” Kurt reproves, easily dodging Blaine’s attempt to plant one on him. Simply moving his head to one side doesn't quite get the message across, so when Blaine’s lips graze the base of his neck, Kurt gives him a solid pat on his shoulder. He hopes it will snap Blaine out of it. “Come on, lay down. You're less likely to throw up that way.” Kurt issues his instructions sternly.    
  
Thankfully, that seems to work. Blaine mumbles his compliance, lowering himself into the car.  _ Finally _ . Kurt lets himself relax a smidgen as he leans over to buckle Blaine in, now that he's one step closer to putting this stupid night behind him.    
  
Big mistake.    
  
Before he can fasten the seatbelt, Blaine decides to plead his case once more. Kurt chokes on air as Blaine tugs him off of his feet with a hand tangled tightly in his shirt. His knee clashes painfully with the side of the car he's being dragged into, and his head narrowly avoids the same fate. By the time he processes what's going on Blaine is mouthing sloppily at his jaw, still trying to bring him closer.    
  
It's an uncomfortable position. His left arm is trapped awkwardly between their chests, and just as the other finds the leverage to push himself up, Blaine knocks him off balance. It's undignified and clumsy, and everything Kurt doesn't want.    
  
He can't breathe.    
  
The hold Blaine has on him is tighter than it's ever been. He's pressing Kurt down onto him, and his palm is sweaty enough that Kurt can feel it through the back of his shirt. The other has a vice grip on his hip, digging in as though it will anchor Kurt in place. Where his touch is usually soft and inviting it's harsh, and needy in a way he wouldn't mind if it wasn't so aggressive. All over again Kurt is overwhelmed by an oppressive heat he can't shake.   
  
Kurt struggles against the onslaught of unwanted contact until he can push himself up against Blaine’s shoulder. He gasps for air, but he can feel that hand on his back trying to pull him back in.    
  
This is  _ Blaine _ . His knight in shining armour. His best friend. His love. This is the one person who shouldn't be able to make him feel so helpless.    
  
Why can't he see this is hurting him?   
  
He needs to do something, anything, to show him how wrong this all is. “Blaine--” he tries, but he's cut off immediately. Blaine lurches forwards, propping himself up on his elbows with an unsettling fervour.    
  
"Kurt let’s just do it, I want you, come on…” He pleads between shallow breaths, straining to get as close as possible. Kurt has never been more desperate for distance. His hands start moving, invasive and intrusive, searching for a way to turn Kurt pliant and willing against him. It's nauseating in a way his boyfriend's touch shouldn't be able to be. Kurt frantically blurts out whatever he thinks might get it across -  _ stop, don’t, please _ \- but Blaine isn't hearing him.   
  
He cups Kurt's cheek in a way that's familiar, gentle - painfully so. It clashes sharply with his condescending tone. “Listen, I know you wanted to do it in a field of lilacs with Sting playing in the background and all that, but who cares about that! It's about us--”   
  
“Right, it's about us!” Frustration tears through Kurt's body like a wildfire, granting him the surge of energy he needs to wrench himself out of the car. “Which is why I don't want to do it on a night you spent half of dancing with another guy! And that you're not sober enough to remember it the next day!” With each word he hisses out, his voice cracks with white-hot shame. Every last scrap of rage that has been spreading beneath his skin since he first found out about Sebastian comes flooding out, merging with the terror of being handled so roughly by the person he trusts more than anybody else. It's so emotionally visceral that it leaves him trembling. Kurt can't remember the last time he felt so humiliated.   
  
“Why are you yelling at me?” Blaine grumbles. Somehow, he has the gall to look pissed off, as if he asked Kurt for something simple like the weather forecast, rather than his virginity.   
  
“Because I have never felt less like being intimate with someone, and either you can't tell or you just don't care!”    
  
Their eyes lock. It makes Kurt's spine crawl. Blaine's pupils are blown wide, and the warm amber shade that usually surrounds them is lost under the weak glow of the streetlights.    
  
Kurt expects a moment to catch his breath while Blaine processes where he's gone wrong. He expects an apology. He doesn't get one.    
  
Blaine launches himself out of the car and takes a few clumsy steps away from it. “Wh-- Where are you going?!” Kurt cries out, too harried to worry about how hoarse his throat feels. He's never had to shout like this with Blaine, and the exertion of it is agonising.    
  
“I'm sorry for trying to be spontaneous and fun!” He yells, raising his arms up in a grandiose shrug. It feels like a slap to the face. What was fun about that? When, exactly, was Kurt going to start enjoying himself? Blaine sets his hands on his hips, staring at Kurt expectantly as though he's being short-changed by this whole shit-show. Kurt can't even begin to fathom what Blaine wants from him. He's still shaking. Blaine is only able to wait for a few seconds before he gives up. "I think I'm just gonna walk home.”   
  
_ This isn't happening _ . 

Kurt watches through tears as his boyfriend stomps towards the street. He can't tear his eyes away from the arms at his sides, and the hands that have just shown Kurt a type of fear he never thought he'd feel again.    
  
“Blaine!” He calls out weakly - he must have heard something wrong. This isn't real. Those aren't the tell-tale aches of new bruises blooming all over his body. They can fix this. When Blaine turns around he will get down on his knees and beg for Kurt’s forgiveness, he will reveal that he's been possessed or blackmailed into breaking Kurt’s heart, and it will never happen again.   
  
Blaine doesn't turn around.    
  
The adrenaline dissipates as quickly as it came. He's exhausted, but he still can't stop shaking. He can feel how tense he is now; it's like his body is about to snap in a thousand different places. He shuts his eyes tight and forces his breathing to slow down. 

_He’s gone. I'm alone. I'm safe. ...I shouldn't have to think that way._   
  
Suddenly, the rest of the world comes back into focus. He shuts the car door and leans against it. He doesn't trust his legs to hold him up on their own. He makes a sound between a breathless sigh and a broken sob and covers his mouth tightly. Vacantly, his eyes fixate on the ugly shade of orange the streetlights have cast this nightmare in, and the cogs in his head kick into overdrive.   
  
_Where did I go wrong?_

* * *

What Sebastian is seeing doesn’t fit. 

Blaine isn’t desperate, or aggressive, or petulant, and yet in the span of a few minutes, Sebastian watches him fly between all three so fast it gives him whiplash. He’s meant to be some kind of debonair heart-throb, flawless in every way, but Sebastian can’t consolidate that Blaine with the one that’s just staggering across the street, leaving Kurt in a daze.

Kurt is supposed to be the issue. He’s a priss, and a prude, and a problem for the Warblers that Sebastian will someday solve. Sebastian hasn’t paid him any more thought than that but now, watching Kurt shut down, he’s forced to. 

Sebastian has a plan. He has the information he’s picked up from the others, and the handful of interactions he’s shared with them. None of this is part of it.

Neither of them noticed him leaving the club or listening in, and now he knows far too much about a moment he shouldn’t have witnessed. 

Kurt is catatonic. He’s leaning against his car door, so lost to the world that he hasn’t noticed Sebastian standing ten feet away. He could leave. Part of Sebastian wants that - he wants to back away slowly until he reaches the gates of Dalton, where he can pretend it never happened. It’s nothing to do with him, is it? He just gave Anderson the drinks, none of them came with instructions to be a total fucking creep.

_ Shit.  _ He runs a hand through his hair, but unfortunately, it doesn’t wipe those icky feelings of accountability away. He steps closer, making sure that his shoes scrape noisily against the ground. He doesn’t need the awkwardness of announcing his presence verbally - he’s uncomfortable enough. 

Kurt covers his face the second their eyes meet like it might make Sebastian disappear. Sebastian kind of wishes it could. His chest rises and falls just a little too fast to be healthy, and Sebastian hears a groaned  _ ‘oh God’  _ between frantic breaths. 

“What the hell was that?” he asks because truly, he’d love to understand. That might make it easier to leave. 

“ _ That _ was none of your business.” Kurt replies immediately, with a voice like barbed wire and an expression like he’s tangled in it. 

“Maybe not.” Sebastian wishes he could leave it at that. He nearly does. He takes two steps back before he realises he’ll need to follow after Blaine to catch the bus - the hour-and-then-some long bus journey back to the city Blaine lives in. “It will be, though, when they fish loverboy out of a ditch tomorrow morning.”

Kurt shuts his eyes with a defeated sigh. He’s been beaten down by the ordeal, and noticeably dishevelled from where Sebastian stands. His hair was perfectly coiffed when he left the bar - now it’s mussed and flattened in places. His shirt is rumpled, untucked, and Sebastian feels a stab of revulsion when he realises the bottom button has been ripped out. “He’s gone. He’s walking home, and he doesn’t want anything to do with me right now. Congratulations are in order, I guess,” his words quake through his sarcastic sneering, “you got exactly what you wanted.”

It shouldn’t mean anything. As far as Sebastian is concerned, Kurt is a ridiculous caricature of a human being - a jumbled litter of set-ups and punchlines just waiting to be put together - so nothing he has to say should have any effect beyond a cheap laugh. Now, he just feels cheap. He wants a part of this; he’s wanted to cause a rift in this relationship since he heard about it, but not like this. It was meant to be as laughable as everything else in this stupid country.

“I didn’t fucking plan this, Hummel.” They both know that, don’t they? Now that he’s said it, he doesn’t have to feel bad anymore, but he still doesn’t feel  _ better _ . Kurt’s gaze is disbelieving. Sebastian hasn’t felt so thoroughly scrutinised since he had to leave France.

“Really? Well, I can’t remember any other boy-harlots inviting us here in the first place.” Kurt yells. Sebastian never thought he’d see him  _ that  _ upset. His anguish is palpable, and weighs heavy in the air between them. Kurt covers his face again, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Sebastian can’t tell if he’s trying to hide tears or pretend he’s not really there. Before he can figure it out he realises that the silence has grown long and cumbersome, stretching unbearably tight over the seconds as they tick by, because he has no real response to that. It isn’t fair, he thinks - Kurt agreed on behalf of them both - but the embarrassment radiating from him tells Sebastian that he’s well aware of that fact. It must be easier to blame the things he can’t control. 

“Would you just get out of here?” It should sound like a command, Sebastian thinks, but it feels 

like a plea. Kurt is mortified, that much is obvious now, and if his hands weren’t shaking so hard Sebastian might be wondering why he hasn’t already driven away.  _ Ah.  _ “If you’re here to gloat, then just get it over with because I--”

“Give me your keys.”

There’s another pause. Kurt uncovers his eyes, wholly incredulous, and for a second he looks like the obnoxious fairy Sebastian first pegged him as all over again. “I’m not really in the mood to be mugged right now, Smythe.” 

“And I’m not part of a class that needs to resort to that sort of thing, so roll back the snark, alright?” Sebastian waits for Kurt to interject with something annoying and catty, but he doesn’t. “Look, I can tell your brain isn’t quite up to functioning right now, so I’m going to spell it out for you. Your boyfriend’s a total reprobate, and you don’t want to deal with him tonight. Fine! But you and I both know he’s wasted. You brought him here, and I bought him drinks all night - like it or not, we’re responsible. Maybe he’s the asshole type of drunk, but I’m almost certain you don’t want him dead because of it. So, you have a choice: we can make sure he gets home, or you can scrape him off of somebody’s bumpers tomorrow.”

“I’m going to find him, I just… I need a minute, alright?” It’s the response Sebastian expected, but there’s no bite to it. He doesn’t have the energy for conversation, let alone a search and rescue mission, and as much as he wishes he could leave it at that he’s been doing this for a while. Back home, when going out was something he did with people he actually liked, he had always been careful enough to compensate for even the sloppiest drunks. He can’t shake that instinct. 

“After that shitshow, you’re going to need more than a minute, which gives Blaine more time to find a speeding SUV to curl up under.” Sebastian decides to speak slowly now. The vacuous look in Kurt’s eyes makes him feel like it’s going to take multiple frustrating attempts to get any information across. He holds his hand out, expecting the keys to fall into it. “So, here’s how it’s going to work. You’re going to have your breakdown in the passenger seat, and I’m going to drive your hunk of scrap metal around until we find Blaine and get him back to the Shire. Got it?”

Kurt’s eyes flit across their surroundings, searching for a way to put this whole situation off. “You haven’t been drinking?” It’s more of a statement than a question - even somebody as lifeless as Kurt must know what intoxication looks like, surely.

“I had one, about 4 hours ago. Pretty sure my blood alcohol level is in the negatives, actually, which is a convenient travesty.” Sebastian is beginning to regret not knocking back a couple more cognacs. Perhaps they could dull the inanity of this exchange.

Though the skepticism in his eyes lingers, a muffled jingling sound comes from Kurt’s direction. Slowly, he fishes his keys out of his pocket, and dangles them over Sebastian’s offered palm. Before he can grab them, Kurt quickly retracts his hand like he’s been burnt. “This isn’t your Audi. She’s my baby, and if you get so much as a scratch on her, I will use your head to buff it out. Are we clear?” 

Sebastian knows he ought to have a retort for the threat, but he’s a little bewildered. He furrows his brow. “Who told you what kind of car I’ve got...?”

Kurt has the audacity to snicker at some joke that Sebastian didn’t catch. His nose crinkles, his mouth tips into a tired smile, and it’s aggravating. “Of course,” he scoffs. It’s not a real answer, which is all the more irritating. The annoyance is soothed only by the keys in his hand. Once it’s there, all traces of amusement leave Kurt, who sinks into the passenger seat silently. 

The soft thud of the door closing after him is jarring. Suddenly Sebastian is facing the brisk chill alone again, the way he planned to until his eventual return to Dalton. His feet follow the perimeter of the car which, surprisingly, doesn’t look like it’s just been rolled out of a scrap heap. It’s bigger and bulkier than anything Sebastian would say Kurt might own, but its glossy finish makes enough sense. Kurt definitely seems like the type to spend hours meticulously polishing his possessions.  _ He definitely has enough free time for it with that personality.  _ Kurt doesn’t acknowledge Sebastian pulling the door open; he’s pressing his temple to the cool glass at his side with a distant stare. The seat is comfortable enough, Sebastian thinks, but it’s just a touch too close to the steering wheel. He starts fumbling for some sort of lever to reposition it with, but when he eventually finds it, it sends the seat lurching backwards. 

“Stupid fucking thing…” He trails off, tugging the handle again and awkwardly forcing the seat forwards. Then a little further back. And then closer again. When he’s finally comfortable enough he glances at Kurt, whose gaze is filled with abhorrence. “What?”

“Is it not enough to meddle in my relationship? Do you have to meddle with my seat, too? It was perfectly adjusted.” Kurt shakes his head, as if moving his car seat back 2 inches is the most dastardly think Sebastian could have done. 

“Do you want your car totalled? Because we can waste some more time putting this seat back in a position where I’ll get a cramp every time I brake, if that’s what it takes to finally get out of here.” Sebastian says, with every ounce of condescension he can muster. He raises one eyebrow, daring Kurt to complain some more. For the second time silence meets Sebastian where he expects bitching, and he starts the car. He rolls his eyes when he spots Kurt’s white-knuckle grip on the roof handle. They’ve achieved non-verbal bitching. It’s almost impressive.

Miraculously, Sebastian gets them out of the parking lot with 0 casualties. Before he can ask, Kurt tells him, “Blaine went left.”

Sebastian hasn’t been driving for long, but it feels strange to use somebody else’s car. He likes the freedom of driving, and the comfort of his Audi, but he knows it won’t last. When  _ (it’s not an ‘if,’ it’s never been an ‘if’)  _ he gets back to France he’ll have to pass another set of tests and get a new set of wheels and, fuck, if he’d had the chance to do it there in the first place, he wouldn’t be in this mess. Maybe he’d be driving along the Champs-Élysées right now. 

When his own imaginings of what could be start to sting, he lends his focus to the disappointing reality of west Lima. His hunt for Dalton Academy’s favourite hobbit has begun, and the sooner it’s over, the better.

He almost forgets Kurt is there until he turns the stereo on, and Sebastian nearly shits himself.

**_...believe in a thing called love, just listen to the rhythm of my heart! There’s a chance we could make it now, we’ll be rocking ‘til the--_ **

“Christ!” Sebastian yelps, while Kurt visibly cringes and smacks the eject button. The blaring notes stop as abruptly as they started, and they heave a unified sigh of relief. Kurt must be fatigued; he starts chuckling to himself, and relaxes into the leather. 

“I told Finn to take the disc out.” He says with a shake of his head, as if that actually explains anything.

“Which one is Finn? The mohawk? The half-giant?” Sebastian can only presume it’s one of the New Directions. As long as he’s stuck in a confined space with their most flammable member, he may as well get some intel on the ones he’s only ever seen in show choir blog footage. He’s doing all of this for The Warblers, after all.

“Half-giant,” Kurt confirms, to Sebastian’s amusement. “I’m allowed to call him that, you’re not. We’re related now.” He must catch the questioning look on Sebastian’s face, because he tacks on, “step-brothers.” 

Sebastian nods, saying nothing in response. They’re step-brothers. That’s nothing to be pissed over - not rationally- and yet the road ahead is now a victim of his scowl. He didn’t ask for any of this. Talking to Kurt for any reason aside from knocking his confidence wasn’t part of the plan. Learning anything about him, or his family, is an unnecessary hindrance on his conscience. The person sitting next to him in the passenger seat with a tear rolling down his cheek has a family, a life. Now Sebastian can imagine him hurtling down the freeway with his mutant step-brother, singing along to hard rock at the top of their lungs. Maybe they’re testing out harmonies for their glee club, or just passing the time because there’s nothing else to do in their shit-hole town-- he needs to stop thinking about it. Anything that makes them feel like real people is a hindrance to his cause.

There’s another silence, and Sebastian is paying far too much attention to Kurt. His eyes still scour the sidewalk for signs of Blaine, but every now and then he ends up looking at Kurt, who seems like he needed the break from talking. By the time anything breaks it, he’s stopped crying, and the adrenaline from his panic has evidently worn off. 

“There!” Kurt calls out, jabbing his finger at the window. “You can pull over here. Quickly!”

If he hadn’t been the one to push going after Blaine so hard Sebastian would have resented Kurt being so demanding, but he had a right to be after everything the night had afforded him. That’s the only reason he complies, stopping right next to Blaine, who doesn’t even seem to notice. 

For a moment, it’s like Kurt hasn’t noticed him either but if the abject look of anxiousness on his face is anything to go by, that’s not the issue. It’s one of those moments where Sebastian wishes he was a lot less perceptive. 

“If he barfs on me, I’m sending you the dry cleaning bill,” Sebastian mutters. It’s an empty threat, but before Kurt can figure out as much, he’s out of the car and marching over to Blaine.

“Sebastian!” the walking mess calls out, as if he’s greeting an old friend. Less than an hour ago, Sebastian would have found that sloppy smile to be charming. Handsome, even. Now, it makes his skin crawl, and he’s relieved to watch it droop into a confused frown. “Sebastian? But you were in the club…”

“I was in the bar, yes. So were you - and now we’re here, chit-chatting on the sidewalk.” Blaine doesn’t seem to recognise the clippy sarcasm in his voice. “Do you even know where you are?”

“...Sidewalk,” Blaine answers, looking down at their feet.

“Uh-huh. Thought so. Come on,” Sebastian grits his teeth, moving behind Blaine and setting his hands on the shorter boy’s shoulders. “You’re going to take a ride in the backseat.”

“Why Sebastian, I thought you’d never ask,” Blaine slurs, and all Sebastian can do is resist the urge to shove him away. 

“You’re going to lay down, and keep quiet until we get you home. Understood?”   
  
“We? ...Hey… You kind of sound like Kurt. But less naggy,” Blaine rambles, leaning against the car. Sebastian holds off from opening the back door. 

He should, really. He should let Kurt hear all the creepy things Blaine has to say - he set out tonight to drive a wedge between them, and that’s all it would take. They would self-destruct, and after that, Blaine would be itching to retake his spot as a Warbler. The trouble is, he’s going to be stuck in a little metal box with the two of them for at least an hour to come.

Just because he doesn’t want to be there when Kurt gets his heart broken, doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it to happen anymore. Right?

“What did I say about being quiet?” Sebastian asks, raising a pointed eyebrow at Blaine, who’s still too inebriated to take the hint. “...Kurt’s in the car. I think he’s more likely to forgive you if you keep your mouth shut, don’t you?”

“He’s the one who shouted,” Blaine grumbles. He pouts. He actually thinks he deserves an apology. 

In a stunned silence, Sebastian opens the car door. He gestures for Blaine to sit down, and thankfully, he doesn’t resist it. It’s only when Sebastian reaches across his chest to pull his seatbelt across that he starts to regret offering to get out. 

The sound is always recognisable. The gurgling that bursts out through Blaine’s throat, followed by the jump in his shoulders, and then--

All over his legs. Down into his shoes. 

Blaine throws up, and Sebastian prays for a sudden, swift death. 

“I’m sorry,” he burbles, along with something else quiet and indecipherable. Sebastian doesn’t care. He looks up to see Kurt, watching with wide, horrified eyes, and sighs.

Sebastian finishes strapping him in, and makes Blaine wipe his mouth with his own sleeve. As soon as it’s done he lets go of Blaine like he’s been burnt, and shuts the door behind him in a similar fashion.

When he gets back in the car, Kurt is ready and waiting with fearful eyes and a packet of moist towelettes being held out between them. Sebastian says nothing as he sits, his legs hanging out of the car as he takes a generous wad with an audible shudder as he begins wiping at the mess. He can hear Blaine in the back, whining incoherently about the cold, but seeing as it’s going to take a week in the washer to get that acrid scent out of his pants Sebastian can’t bring himself to care. His sneakers are destined for the trash can, although he might take the time to clobber Blaine with them first.

With the window rolled down as the drive resumes, Sebastian’s jaw stays tightly set, and Kurt doesn’t say a word for a solid 10 minutes. Blaine stays unconscious in the back - or not, Sebastian doesn’t really care so long as he isn’t choking. He’s more concerned with the fact that Kurt’s thinking so damn loud it’s drowning out the engine. 

“Why do you look like you’re about to shit yourself?” Sebastian asks, ever the height of eloquence.

“Why are you still here?”

Their eyes lock for a fleeting second, and Kurt’s are so full of scrutiny it’s piercing. 

“Well, we’re currently going 70 on a busy highway, so--”   
  
“Not what I meant,” Kurt interjects, sounding so exhausted that it sucks all the fun out of the sarcasm.

“Why does it matter?” 

From his watchful expression, it’s obvious Kurt isn’t about to entertain his deflection either. 

“I hardly know you Sebastian, but everything I do know tells me you’re not to be trusted,” Kurt begins; apparently the mood is too serious for them to be catty. It makes Sebastian itch. “Yet, here you are, going out of your way to help me through the last few hours of one of the most embarrassing nights of my life… or so it would seem.”

“Right,” Sebastian nods slowly, trying not to look perturbed by it. It makes sense - he set out to mess with Kurt. Whether or not Kurt is aware of that never mattered before. “I probably should have an ulterior motive, shouldn’t I? Sadly not.”

“So you’re just enduring the stink of your own vomit-saturated pant leg for the fun of it?” Kurt asks, openly distrustful. That shouldn’t bother Sebastian either.

“You think this is fun for me?” Sebastian retorts. “I get it, Kurt. No, really, I do-- I get that this would be much easier for you to deal with if it turned out I planned it all, but I didn’t. I’m sorry your boyfriend is a creep--”

“He’s not a _creep_ \--”

“You’re defending him right now?” Sebastian scoffs, and Kurt sharply looks away. There’s a long silence, and Sebastian only chooses to break it when he realises Kurt’s on the verge of tears again. Suddenly, he’s not indifferent to having that on his conscience. “Listen… I mean, really, listen - this is fucked up, and it sucks, but it happened. That doesn’t change just because you know him. In fact, some people would say that makes it worse. _I_ would say that makes it worse - I’ve been there. I’ve been… Where you are right now, and as sleazy as I’ve deliberately been, apparently that’s my limit.”

Suddenly the engine is deafeningly loud, even though the car charges ahead as smoothly as ever. The crisp, cold air still whips over them through the opened window but Sebastian’s burning up, and the stench of drying bile is overpowering. 

He needs to get out of the car. When they get to Blaine’s home, he’s going to get out, and jog his way back to Dalton on the off-chance it’ll get rid of the lead weight in his lungs.

“You know, I would’ve gone home and pretended it hadn’t happened?” Sebastian glances at him, but Kurt is staring dead ahead. He looks as tense as Sebastian feels. “I can practically see it. I would’ve spent all night sobbing my eyes out, worrying about whether he got home safe until I saw him at school the next day. At that point, honestly, I don’t know what I’d say. If I’m being embarrassingly honest, I’d probably apologise for letting him make his own way home, just for the sake of burying the issue a little faster.”

The atmosphere doesn’t get any lighter, but it feels less oppressive now that they’ve both said too much.

“That’s awful.”

“I know. I would’ve known that with or without your intervention but I’m here, and I’m not going to do any of that,” Kurt says, apprehensive, like he’s psyching himself up to pull a tooth. “I refuse to be more pathetic than a boy in a popped collar.”

Sebastian manages a half-smile.

“Next exit,” Kurt says. The rest of the journey passes that way; Kurt gives directions and isn’t confused when Sebastian actually follows them. It’s finally clicked for both of them, Sebastian thinks, that some stupid boy-crazy show-choir rivalry isn’t more important to Sebastian than his morals. Not that he had many to begin with. 

Finally, when Kurt gives the signal, Sebastian turns into a driveway that he’s willing to be a hypocrite for - it’s stupidly pretentious. The headlights barely catch it, but he’s pretty sure one of the shrubs they just passed is a topiary bust of Blaine. Ugh. New money.

Kurt turns in his seat as he undoes his seatbelt, taking a long look at Blaine in the backseat. He’s slumped over himself in a position that’s bound to give him a much-deserved crick in his neck. 

“I’m taking him inside,” Kurt informs Sebastian, opening the door before he has the chance to offer. Admittedly, he’s grateful for it. “I’m pretty sure his parents are out, but just in case they’re not, let’s make sure it’s a familiar face they see dragging their unconscious son around…”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Sebastian asks, so earnestly concerned that it leaves a sour taste in his own mouth. Kurt looks weirded out by it too, but he has to stand by it. “You shouldn’t have to touch him at all.”

“You’re right, but I can’t leave him on the driveway,” Kurt sighs, getting out of the car with a shrug. Once it shuts, there’s a gap between it and him opening the back one. Sebastian can imagine he’s gathering the nerve to go through with it, and so he has the decency not to stare. “Come on you,” Kurt says, rousing a disoriented Blaine from his sleep. “You’re going to take a nice long nap on the couch.”

In a display of strength that surprises Sebastian, Kurt undoes Blaine’s seatbelt and lifts him out of the car, leaving Sebastian to stew in a hot load of _what the fuck_ over all this shit he didn’t plan.

Those three words circle him as he watches them hobble towards the front door. He stays poised, ready to burst out and pry them apart at the first sign of trouble while he picks himself apart.

He fucked up most by answering Kurt’s questions, he thinks. That’s why he’s so uncomfortable now. Kurt was meant to see the exact same amount of him as everybody else, with just an extra sprinkling of nefariousness. Now they’ve levelled with one another - even if it’s only over one shitty, disgusting thing, it’s too much. It’s more than Sebastian wanted, and he needs to cauterise all those icky feelings before anybody else realises he has them.

Deciding the easiest way to do that is to make sure he’s alone, Sebastian gets out of the car, taking the keys with him. That’s one perk to the Andersons’ snobby driveway - nobody’s around to swipe the keys if he leaves them on the hood for Kurt. 

He overestimates how long he has to make himself scarce. By the time he’s searched the route back to Dalton on foot (which is significantly longer than he’d been hoping it would be) Kurt is finished dealing with Blaine. Sebastian doesn’t realise this, however, until Kurt taps him on the shoulder.

“Jesus-- Shit!” Sebastian curses, barely catching his phone before it smashes onto the gravel below. 

“You’ll be late for your first period if you try to walk back,” Kurt informs him, picking up the keys with a sigh. “Come on. It’s my turn to drive.”

“Aren’t you itching to get back to Lima?”

“Don’t be a smartass about it, Sebastian. We’re past that,” Kurt says, so matter-of-fact about it that Sebastian can’t conjure an objection. All it takes is one expectant nod towards the car and a sharply arched eyebrow to make him comply.

Now that he doesn’t have the driving to worry about, Sebastian can’t sit still. His left leg starts bouncing, and he starts picking at his fingernails. Out of the corner of his eye he catches Kurt periodically glancing at him as the car slowly returns to the road.

“I wouldn’t have been that late,” Sebastian says eventually, because he doesn’t want to start biting his nails in front of Kurt.

“I know that,” he replies calmly. Off-puttingly so. 

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“No, I don’t,” Kurt agrees. Sebastian can’t wrap his head around how composed he is. “I will tomorrow though.”

Sebastian’s brows knit together as he turns to watch Kurt. “What is it you’re expecting me to do tomorrow?”

“You still have those tickets for West Side Story, don’t you?”

Sebastian had almost forgotten, but he knows his ticket is waiting for him on his desk. He was never that eager to attend, but the rest of the Warblers were - they’re not going to be pleased when he crosses it off their to-do list.

“It’s fine. I’ll come up with some excuse for why we can’t go.”

“What? No,” Kurt shakes his head, much to Sebastian’s confusion. “You’re coming. It’s selfish, I know, but I don’t want to be the only one there who knows what happened outside that club.”

“That’s not selfish.”

Kurt smiles a little, and Sebastian forces himself to look away before he pays too much attention to it. They’re getting close to Dalton, he realises. 

“Anyway… don’t make any plans for afterwards.” Kurt pauses, as if Sebastian’s going to let him get away with being cryptic about it. He fixes that misconception with an impatient stare. “I’m going to break up with Blaine, and I need somebody to hold me accountable for it. And…”

“...And…?”

“I’d like to have a friend around who gets it when I do.”

Sebastian’s mouth hangs open. Kurt holds his head high as he turns into Dalton’s parking lot, his posture rigid and braced for rejection.

“A friend?”

“I know. It’s gross,” Kurt says, pulling a laugh from Sebastian. He seems to relax somewhat when he hears it. “It’s gross, but I can tell you need one. A friend, that is.”

Sebastian isn’t sure how to answer. He swallows, looking down at his nails again with a bemused smile. “And when you say ‘gets it,’ you mean…”

“Gay? Yes, that’s what I mean.” Another laugh, this time from both of them. Kurt parks the car by the gate, looking at Sebastian properly while the engine hums, filling the poignant quiet that follows. “I know you want us to hate each other. I suspect we’d both find it easier if we pretend this never happened. We could go back to fighting over Blaine--”

“No,” Sebastian shakes his head sharply. “We couldn’t.”

“Exactly.” Kurt shrugs, averting his gaze in a way that makes him look painfully vulnerable. “You’re much more decent than you want me to think you are, Sebastian. Don’t get me wrong-- I’m sure you’re always painfully snarky, and a little obnoxious, but I’ve looked past worse. Besides... I recall you saying something about a dry-cleaning bill.”

Again, Sebastian laughs, and despite himself he can’t muster up a ‘no.’ Maybe it’s because he’s tired, maybe it's because he's desperate to get out of his vomit-encrusted pants, or maybe it’s because Kurt actually has a point.

“I’ll come and see the show,” he offers, noticing the way the corner of Kurt’s lip jumps far too readily. “Maybe I’ll catch you afterwards, and we’ll see how well we tolerate one another with nothing to fight over.”

“Or we can find something more fun to fight over.”

_Oh no._ Now he’s looking forward to it. 

“I’ll see you there, Kurt,” Sebastian says, opening the door. He lingers in the passenger seat for a few seconds longer, but tears himself out of it before he starts grinning. 

Sebastian limits his thoughts to how grateful he is to be headed to the nearest dormitory - so he doesn’t get any stupid ideas about turning back to watch Kurt go. The sound of the car pulling away doesn’t start until Sebastian opens the door of his dorm building.

The night stretches on, well beyond the early hours of the morning, and his mind races all the while. His anger towards Blaine dominates it all, because that’s easier. Easier than anger for what happened to Kurt, or anger towards himself.

All of that anger, by far, is easier than acknowledging the one thing he doesn’t want to: there are much worse people than Kurt Hummel to consider friends. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kurtbastian week is here!!! Anybody else who wants to join in for the remaining 6 days can find all the info they need here: http://kbweek2020.tumblr.com/


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